


Dark Past, Darker Future

by Lady_Grumpsalot



Category: The Revenant (2016), Tom Hardy - Fandom
Genre: F/M, angsty fluff, i have no excuse for myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7841569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Grumpsalot/pseuds/Lady_Grumpsalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ok, I like Fitz. Can't do nothin' about it and ain't gonna to.</p><p>All historical inaccuracies, anachronisms and so on belong to me, as well as this headcanon. The rest belongs to the respective owners.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Dark Past, Darker Future

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I like Fitz. Can't do nothin' about it and ain't gonna to.
> 
> All historical inaccuracies, anachronisms and so on belong to me, as well as this headcanon. The rest belongs to the respective owners.

He was always a bit wild, he knew it. Wild, rude, stubborn and all sorts of names. That was no secret to him, he was honest with himself. What _was_ a secret, though, was why she loved him. He couldn't wrap his head around it, however hard he tried. Sometimes he would keep thinking about it till his head ached. But other days, these thoughts were put on the back burner.

Since he married her, he grew to love coming home. He was no longer greeted by the drunken yelling of his father and his bloody friends - instead, he was welcomed by a hug and an affectionate kiss on his chapped lips, no matter how dirty he was. She would help him out of his coat, get him some ale and start both a meal and a bath. He never told her that he didn't need no hot food and water to get warm, that she was enough. Warmth always started seeping into his blood the very second he saw her. Had he cut himself loose, he would've kissed her senseless right on the spot, trying to bless every inch of her body. Fuck knows why he never did that. Stupid.

She somehow managed to bring out the best in him - the remnants of once a naive boy who believed that the world was a nice place. When he was with her, everything suddenly seemed less shitty. His cabin looked cozy, their future was not as bleak as usual and he genuinely hoped, even if not for long, that he had a real chance of making a small fortune on the frontier. Then he'd try to finally give her the life she deserved, in a better house with a maid and maybe even a cook.

She also calmed the storm so often raging in his soul. In the evening they would sit on a huge bearskin by the fireplace, and she would gently comb his hair, still damp after the bath, massage his shoulders and tell him how she missed him. Something hard and furious would melt inside him, like a block of ice on a stove, and he would hold her tight, inhaling her wonderful scent - coffee, summer breeze and home, - kiss her sweet lips, catching her every giggle and sigh, caress her skin as gently as he could and pray that it wasn't one of those painful, haunting dreams that he'd often had in the wilderness and that would leave him tired and aching for comfort. Then his hands would find their way under her nightgown and she would move closer, arching under his touch and attacking his mouth with uncharacteristic fierceness. The very sight of her - soft pale skin against coarse brown fur, eyes hazy with desire, locks of wavy hair shining like halo in the flickering light of the fire - would set his head spinning and he would get absolutely drunk on the low, sensual moans dripping from her lips like mead. She would whisper in his ear how much she loved him, and the simple words would drown in the waves of pure and utter bliss flooding his body and soul. Then, still panting and not entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming, he would carry her to the bed, and they would snuggle up to each other under a big heavy blanket. Before drifting off to sleep, she would stroke his cheeks, place a feather-light kiss on his forehead and wish him a good night. He, though, would stay awake for some time, listening to her peaceful breathing and memorizing the features of her beautiful face. It was as though he already knew that one day memories would be all that’s left of her.

Her death was unexpected and horrible. She went to the woods to collect some medicinal herbs, like she’d done a hundred times before, and was assaulted by several Indians. They tortured her to death and left her naked body on the outskirts of the settlement. When he finally returned home with a decent sum of money (much less than he wanted, but still better than the last time), he spent most of it on a new cross for her grave and the best rifle he could find. He was also convinced that the Indians who cut his head several months later were the ones who’d killed his wife. His blood turned into hot, poisonous bile every time he thought about it, and he was ready to kill every goddamn redskin who’d dare to catch his eye. But the searing pain of loss gradually dulled. Unfortunately, those best parts of him followed suit, leaving an angry, miserable, heartless shell of a man. He felt that, but he no longer cared. The only thing that mattered to him now was moving to another state, as far from the past and the agony of it as possible. And for that, he needed money.

He never told neither Henry nor anyone else of his real reasons for joining the Rocky Mountain Fur Company. They had no business knowing them. For the whole world he was just a trapper desperate for money. True, he hated Indians more than any other man in Henry’s party, but so fucking what? They deserved that. They turned his head inside out.


End file.
